A Sort of Homecoming
by A Soggy Sandwich
Summary: He is seventy and she is several thousand.


**Title:** A Sort of Homecoming  
><strong>Series: <strong>Durarara!  
><strong>Rating: <strong>PG  
><strong>Characters: <strong>Shinra/Celty  
><strong>Notes: <strong>More Kink Meme fill. I am shameless.

–

He is seventy and she is several thousand. Their time together has been only a mere instance of a moment, a flash of memory under centuries upon centuries of her incredibly long existence. And yet, her years with him have brought to her so much happiness; have smothered ancient eons until Celty couldn't remember how she managed to _live _without him. But he is a human, a being that is born dying, and she could not be so selfish as to wish for more of his life. Shinra has given her sixty-six of his seventy years already, has been her lover and husband for over half of that. To ask for any more would be downright criminal.

But now his time is almost up. She can feel it, his life fading away, the hold of death settling in. His hand is in hers, his skin paper-thin and covered in liver spots, the bones and veins more prominent, and she struggles to keep from squeezing, knowing even that slight strength could easily shatter his fingers. He lays upon their shared bed, small beneath the sheets, his body so ravaged by age and time. She could recall when he once feared she would leave him for someone more youthful than himself, back when the first inklings of silver would pepper his hair and he began to look so much like his father.

That had been when they lived in Ikebukuro, before the copious disasters, before the deaths of her closest friends, when it had been hard just to stir from bed and embrace the day. He had seen her pain, had helped his beloved as much as he could in her grief, and had come to the conclusion that even being in Japan was only making it worse. By his own violation, Shinra pulled a few strings from people who owed him far too many favors, procured two passports, and before she could object they were already in Connacht, Ireland; her home of so long ago. It eased the hurt, more than Celty would ever admit, even if she didn't have her head or her memories, she had Ireland once again. But more than that, she had someone to share her home with. There was a balm in watching Shinra struggle with her language, though he did grasp all the grammatical nitpicks fairly quickly, he simply could not stop his tongue from _butchering_ every phrase and syllable. It made Celty laugh – silently, of course – seeing him so frustrated over pronunciation until he finally gave up and relished in the fact that he knew enough Gaeilge to coax her into punting him across the room when he was feeling particularly eloquent. (Which was all the time.)

That time seemed so long ago now, those early days that marked such a big transition of their lives. The move, searching for a new home, the decision to settle in the countryside as opposed to a city, settling into their new lives and Shinra's inevitable proposal. It had been so long ago since her acceptance, since he kissed her neck and eased the silver band onto her finger, since the night they first made love. And now he is dying, his life spent, his soul fraying at the edges, desperate to move own with each hiccuping beat of his stuttering heart.

He's fighting it, though. As much as she can feel death looming near, she can feel him fighting the inevitable with what little strength left in his body, eager to live for just a moment more. But it is no use. Death stops for no one, not even the person death waltzed with during so many quiet nights by candlelight. Celty's fingers tremble against his, her free hand finding the hollow of his cheek, and his eyes open, beautiful steel-grey after all this time and so very exhausted.

It is time.

She has no head, but she doesn't need it for this. From the smoky substance that flows from her neck, Celty utters a name, his name, and she swears she can hear her voice cracking on the syllables, the _"I love you"_resounding in her breast without sound. And Shinra smiles at her, as her fingers find his lips, as his old heart eases to a stop and his eyes gradually close with the final breath his lungs expel. His body grows still, now an empty shell as his soul frees itself from the final bonds of life and humanity, but Celty still collapses over him and cries in her non-existent heart and embraces him until the last vestiges of warmth leaves his flesh with the onset of rigor mortis.

When night falls, Celty leaves her home and her life. Shooter gallops without restraint, spurred on by his mistress' fury and depression, the cóiste bodhar's whinnies roaring with emotion Celty could not express, the very earth trembling beneath the force of their mutual rage. And despite the pain and the hurt stabbing through her chest, Celty will continue to exist as dullahans ought, with death at her heels and every whim. Her borrowed time is gone, and with it her vows, for the irony of fate has already parted her husband.

And eons later, when change and time has ravaged the world as much as it has worn herself down, Celty's immortality shatters with her head and death finally comes for her as well. When she awakens again, it's to a youthful smile and grey-brown eyes and so many familiar faces and Celty thinks – _knows_ – that she's home at last.


End file.
